


In Shadows

by theDeadTree



Series: Hawke Stories [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Gen, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 04:16:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7998244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theDeadTree/pseuds/theDeadTree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hawke brothers struggle to put their past resentments behind them. Various scenes featuring the relationship between Garrett and Carver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Carver Hawke sat in the corner furthest from the door, meticulously inspecting his blade while watching Gamlen carefully examine any and every letter that had arrived at the house that day in his peripheral vision. They were intended for Garrett, of course. They always were. Over the past year Garrett had busied himself with smarming his way around Kirkwall’s criminal underworld, and against all odds, it had worked for him. Carver honestly couldn’t tell why he was so surprised by that. Everything always worked for Garrett. He had some kind of magical allure that made everyone love him and want to do everything for him all the time. For as long as Carver could remember, Garrett seemed to get everything handed straight to him.

His brow creased and he focused even harder on the sword in his hands. It didn’t matter. Their year working for Athenril – which he’d been forced into through the combined efforts of Gamlen and Garrett, what a surprise – was finally over, and he could begin to find his own way. Maybe then he could get out of here, finally escape his family and the dump of a city that was Kirkwall. Maybe then he could finally live a life free of having to make sure everything accommodates for all the poor, delicate mages that seemed to infest his life.

Right at that point, the door swung open as Garrett himself staggered inside, quickly closing the door behind him in some sad attempt to keep the freezing, howling wind at bay. Carver kept his head down as Garrett practically bounded across the room to hug their mother, preferring not to draw the elder Hawke’s attention. He was being unbearably positive lately – Mother’s possible reclamation of the Amell estate as well as the prospect of the expedition and the wealth it could accrue for their family had him in high spirits. Nevermind everything that stood between them and that goal.

It was almost nauseating.

“Hello, _Lord_ Carver,” he chirped, wrapping his arm around Carver’s shoulders and pulling him in for a hug as he affectionately ruffled his hair.

A small growl escaped Carver’s lips as he lashed out, pushing Garrett away with all the strength he could muster. He wasn’t in the mood for this. For _any_ of this. There was still so much that needed to happen and Garrett was acting like he’d already won. Carver was at a loss as to why he was surprised. It wasn’t like Garrett had ever really had a good grip on reality. How could he, when practically everything had been handed to him his entire life? A reward for simply being born first – or for inheriting magic?

Everything had been about Garrett and Bethany. His whole life, dictated by his father, both of his siblings and their little mage guild. Bethany was a year dead, their father three years before that; Garrett was all that remained of the magic in their bloodline. And yet, somehow, magic _still_ dominated their family, it still dictated every decision any of them ever made. Carver had to wonder where it would end. Or even if it ever would.

He gritted his teeth as he picked his sword up from the floor and gently rested it against the wall of the dilapidated shack that was Gamlen’s poor excuse for a home.

“We’re still a long way from cowing templars with our titles, Garrett.”

The instant the words left his mouth, the mood changed – from cheerful to tense in a matter of seconds. Quickly, Garrett gripped Carver’s upper arm and pulled him roughly into the next room, closing the door behind them so their mother and uncle would both be out of earshot for the coming argument. A lifetime of countless arguments and fights had caused both of them to learn to keep Leandra well out of it. Anything less only upset her. It was the one thing they could agree on.

When he was sure they were alone, Garrett folded his arms and leaned against the wall, watching Carver with that slightly bored, exasperated expression he always got every time Carver dared to not go along with whatever he was trying to do.

Because _brother_ knows best, right?

“You could slap on a smile for a few days,” he said with a distinct edge in his voice, before nodding back at the door. “For _her_ sake.”

“She’s not interested in what I think,” Carver snapped back bitterly. “She wants to provide for us, and you’re making sure it happens. And when we’re done, I don’t know. I guess we’ll sit around thinking about how great we _used_ to be.”

He paused for breath, fully expecting Garrett to reply with some quip like he always did whenever anything got even remotely tense. Instead, his older brother simply watched him, unmoving, waiting to see where Carver was planning to go with this. And it infuriated the younger Hawke. It seemed that every time he prepared himself for whatever snide comment Garrett decided to say, his brother elected to remain silent.

He did it on purpose, just to frustrate him. Of that, Carver was sure.

“Mother didn’t even want that life back until we got dumped here,” he continued furiously. “And _you_ only care because we’re under templar scrutiny!”

Finally, Garrett’s brow creased in annoyance, and Carver couldn’t help but feel some perverse sense of achievement at having successfully irritated his brother, even if it was just a little.

“You know,” Garrett drawled as he casually pretended to inspect his clothes, “you hating everything I do is _really_ losing its charm.”

There was the quip Carver had been expecting. Trust Garrett to come up with a clever remark for absolutely everything. It was all he had ever done. Garrett was witty and charismatic and could do no wrong. It had been that way for as long as Carver could remember. That would never change, he was sure.

“Sure, make light,” he snarled. “Why take _anything_ seriously? You’re the eldest, you lead by default.”

“I don’t see _you_ taking the reins.”

“When should I do that?” he retorted sourly. “When I’m following you around, or when I’m caring for Mother while you tame mighty Kirkwall? Besides, we both know what happens when someone leaves _dear brother’s_ protection. I’m sure Bethany would appreciate you keeping good humour.”

It was a low blow, and Carver knew it. He didn’t care. He wanted it to hurt Garrett. He wanted to make it absolutely clear that he blamed the death of their sister solely on him. He wanted him to know that without a shadow of a doubt. If he’d done better as a brother, as a fighter, as a mage, as the one who was supposed to protect her, she’d still be here. It was his fault she died. Her death would always be his fault. And Carver would never let him forget it.

For the briefest of moments, a thousand emotions flashed across Garrett’s face – sadness, hurt, grief, disbelief, rage. But then, he closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, visibly relaxing as his eyes flicked open once more, a smirk playing upon his lips.

“Oh, _poor you,”_ he sighed, his voice low and scathing. “Too busy hiding in my shadow to escape from it.”

Carver pulled back slightly, mouth hanging open uselessly in shock and outrage as Garrett just watched him with a shit-eating grin and his eyebrows raised, silently daring Carver to react, to throw the first punch. And in that moment, there was nothing Carver wanted to do more. It didn’t matter that Garrett was stronger; it didn’t matter that he was a mage. All Carver wanted to do was see his brother hurt. See him _bleed._ Just to make sure he still could.

Four years ago, he wouldn’t have even tried to restrain himself. He would’ve gone to hit Garrett a long time ago, and they’d be on the floor by now, brawling and hurling abuse while Bethany shouted and pleaded for them to stop. But this wasn’t four years ago. They weren’t in Lothering anymore, and Father wasn’t there to pull them apart. So instead, his fists clenched and he gritted his teeth furiously, silently chanting _don’t fall for it_ to himself in an endless mantra. Garrett wanted a reaction. Carver was determined not to give him the satisfaction.

That would only get him so far, though.

“I’m not a _joke!”_

Garrett didn’t even flinch.

“No,” he replied icily. “You’re a lazy brat with a chip on your shoulder.”

That stung. Unable to think of anything to say, Carver looked down and turned away in some vain effort to hide his reaction.

“Well,” Garrett said after a lengthy pause, slapping Carver’s shoulder. “Good talk.”

And that was it.

For a couple of seconds, the two just watched each other in silence, before Garrett rolled his eyes dramatically and turned for the door.

“Garrett,” Carver called quietly, unable to quash the niggling feeling that he’d hate himself if he simply left it there.

He hated that feeling.

He hated the fact that there was still a part of him that strived for his older brother’s approval.

He hated that, try as he might, he could never truly rid himself of the desperation to be part of the family he felt had rejected him.

 _“Garrett,”_ he called again when his brother didn’t respond.

With a huge sigh, Garrett halted in his tracks, remaining absolutely still, not even bothering to look back at his younger brother. For the longest time, they both just stood there, waiting for words to come. Carver swallowed nervously, his throat suddenly dry as he struggled to think of what he wanted to say. He had _no idea_ what to say. He had to wonder if that would ever change.

“Look, I- I just…”

Garrett let out another long sigh and rolled his shoulders back. “The world isn’t going to wait for you to sort your shit out, Carver.”

“But I-”

“I don’t have time for this,” he growled, pushing the door open and vanishing through it.

“No,” Carver muttered bitterly to no one. “You never do.”


	2. Chapter 2

The city-state of Kirkwall was a burning wreck as buildings collapsed under falling debris, fires raged, smoke billowed into the sky and all throughout the streets, templars fought for order and justice, while mages fought for their very lives. He shouldn’t be here, he knew that. He didn’t have a place in this city anymore. It wasn’t his problem. It was something for the rest of the world to deal with; his only concern was the Blight.

As much as he tried, Carver couldn’t distance himself from this place. Couldn’t bring himself to fully leave this city, his past, and what precious little remained of his family, behind. So, he’d come back, and found the city in ruins.

It was a bloody mess – one he was sure Garrett would be right in the middle of.

He always was.

Carver used to envy that about him. He used to glare at his brother with such a seething rage and deep seated resentment. It all seemed so absurd and pointless to him now. He had his problems, his own responsibilities. He didn’t want Garrett’s. Not even Garrett himself wanted Garrett’s problems.

He’d barely spoken to his brother in six years, save for the occasional letter and that one particularly unbelievable outing to the Vimmarks which they all still refused to talk about. When he was first recruited – wasn’t that a nice way of putting it – into the Wardens, he hadn’t been all that sad to go. Hadn’t particularly cared about the possibility of never seeing his family again. For the first time in his life, Carver found himself wishing he hadn’t been so distant.

This wasn’t even the first time he’d returned to Kirkwall to find it a burning wreck. Last time, he and Garrett shared a few terse words in the midst of the Qunari attack, before they had to split up again. Carver had left with his fellow Wardens, while Garrett disappeared further into the city where he eventually punched out the Arishok and consequently won the title of _Champion of Kirkwall,_ because that was the kind of ridiculous happenstance that had become almost characteristic of the eldest Hawke.

But this? This was insane, even for Garrett. Buildings fell apart as fire and debris continued to rain down from the sky. Violent blasts of magic could be heard across the city. Blood ran through gutters and corpses littered the streets as demons prowled about, drifting through the significantly weakened Veil. People ran from their houses, screaming, trying desperately to get away from the chaos.

And here Carver was, charging right into the thick of it. Because that’s where Garrett would be, if he was still alive.

Carver gritted his teeth and kept running. He refused to think about it. Refused to even consider the possibility. Garrett was better than that, and he knew it. Somehow, that didn’t stop cold dread from gnawing at his mind every single time he passed the broken corpse of a mage.

 _He’s not dead,_ he insisted to himself. _He can’t be. This is Garrett we’re talking about._

Garrett’s too damn stubborn to die. Any mage who can live in Kirkwall for seven years without going crazy or getting possessed or resorting to blood magic in some capacity has to be.

And yet, sheer willpower would not protect him from everything. If he’d been caught up in that blast-

_He’s not dead._

It was insane. This entire situation was little more than a mess of chaotic insanity and it was so typically _Garrett._

Suddenly, the air seemed to warp and twist as a shade managed to claw its way through the weakened Veil. Carver staggered back a couple of steps, gripping his sword tightly as the creature advanced on him. His heart pounded in his chest and he gritted his teeth, irritated that something as simple as a _shade_ scared him. He was _supposed_ to be a _Grey Warden._ He and Garrett fought an _ogre_ when he was _eighteen._ He survived _Ostagar_ that same year. He wasn’t about to be frightened off by something so trivial by comparison.

He swung, his blade slicing through the shade’s flesh with a surprising ease. Instinctively, he faced away, closing his eyes and keeping his mouth shut in order to avoid swallowing any of the spatter. Not entirely necessary, since he wasn’t facing darkspawn and was immune to the Taint anyway, but it was something that simply happened on reflex now.

The shade let out a strange gargle, black ooze exuding from the laceration before collapsing on the ground before him, dead. Carver exhaled slowly, trying to focus himself.

“Carver!” the all too familiar voice of his brother called out.

The Grey Warden blinked several times and glanced up to see the Champion of Kirkwall standing there, surrounded the usual gang, bloody and bruised, but very much alive. For so long, the two simply stared vacantly at each other, neither quite sure what to make of the entire situation.

“There…” Carver gasped as his greatsword slipped from his grip and clattered to the ground. “There you are. I thought you were _dead.”_

Garrett’s eyes narrowed critically. “Here to cheer the templars on, are you?”

His tone was sharp and scathing, with no traces of his usual light-heartedness. Even when they used to argue, there was always some hint of lilting humour in his older brother’s voice. Carver didn’t realise how much he missed it until now. He glanced up, meeting his brother’s eyes for the first time since he had burst onto the scene. There was a dark, haunted look to the usually chirpy mage that simply didn’t belong there.

Something had to have happened. Garrett was never like this. Even in the midst of the Qunari attack three years ago, he hadn’t been like this.

It suddenly occurred to Carver that maybe he didn’t want to know.

“Look,” he said, scraping his weapon off the ground. “I know what happened in the Deep Roads. You saved my life – and I didn’t even thank you.”

It hurt to admit that, but he suddenly found that he didn’t care anymore. Garrett was all the family he had left now. That was a fact of which both Hawke brothers were painfully aware. Despite what the nature of their relationship had been for most of his life, Carver found himself pining for his brother’s approval. Just this once, he wanted to have a conversation with him that didn’t end in a fight.

“But, you’re the only family I have left. I have to stand by you,” he insisted, though he couldn’t tell whether he was trying to convince Garrett or himself. “Just say the word, and you’ll have my blade.”

“I thought the _Order_ was supposed to be _neutral?”_ Garrett asked scathingly, clearly in no mood to be tolerable.

Given everything that was going on, and the fact that there was likely more he didn’t know about, Carver couldn’t exactly blame him.

“I’m a Warden because of you,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse. “I blamed you for a long time, but…you saved more than my life. I’m so much more than I was.”

It all sounded so stupid when he said it like that. He barely knew what he was _trying_ to say. It was just an incoherent mess of feeling he’d barely been able to sort out until recently. And even then, it was hard to say.

“This is what I was meant to be, and I won’t thank you by doing nothing while you start a war,” he added, trying to sound confident.

For so long, Garrett just stared at him like he was completely insane.

Maybe he was.

It was impossible to tell anymore.

And then, finally, Garrett relaxed. He pulled out of the defensive stance he’d taken and planted his staff on the ground, leaning on it slightly.

“If you want to help, I’m not going to stop you,” he said after what felt like an eternity. “I’m not going to pretend your blade wouldn’t be welcome.”

Carver grinned. He couldn’t help it. “The Hawke brothers together again, huh? Just like old times.”

The faintest hint of a smile flashed across Garrett’s face. “Not much of a reunion.”

“Hawke,” Aveline called sharply, causing both brothers to look up. “We need to move.”

“You know that _I’m_ Hawke as much as _he_ is, right?” Carver pointed out. “Which one are you talking to?”

“I think she actually means both of us,” Garrett replied.

Aveline was not amused by any of this. _“Maker,_ you’re both so- …neither of you are _moving.”_

Garrett nodded at her before turning heel and practically running down the street, leaving the rest of them to follow him. Carver fell in step with the others, a sudden wealth of memories of following his brother around Kirkwall for that first year springing to mind. It was surprisingly easy. Somehow, it just seemed sort of natural.

“Where are we going?” he called.

Garrett skidded to a halt just as a group of templars appeared around a corner, swords drawn and ready to kill, charging towards a group of terrified mages who seemed frozen in place with shock. Immediately, Garrett planted himself between them, the air around him crackling with magic as he screamed for the mages to run.

Then it was chaos.

The templars closed ranks and charged. The mages panicked. Yet more demons dragged themselves through the Veil, attacking anyone and everyone. Carver barely had time to think. He moved automatically, not giving much consideration to anything. It wasn’t much different from a horde of rabid darkspawn.

Amidst it all, however, he realised that something was off.

“Where’s Anders?” he demanded as he noticed the mage’s absence for the first time.

Garrett’s reply was cold and immediate. “Dead.”

Carver stood stock still, blinking several times as he tried to process this sudden revelation while also focusing on the confusion around him.

 _“What?”_ he demanded, drawing his greatsword just in time to deflect an incoming blow.

“It’s complicated.”

“Was it Meredith?”

“No. It’s _complicated.”_

“Then _how-?”_

“Does it _matter?”_ Garrett interrupted harshly as he danced away from an approaching demon, firing off spell after spell with a fluidity and a grace that would’ve made their father proud. “The chantry’s gone, the grand cleric’s dead, the city is in ruins, and everyone has gone _fucking insane._ I’m sorry if I’m a tiny little bit preoccupied with _not dying_ to give you a full run-down of the situation.”

“Why wait?” Carver snapped back at him, his sword slicing into the flesh of a demon’s back. “Talking’s what you’re _good_ at, isn’t it?”

“Oh, so we’re back to sniping now, are we? Well, the civility was fun while it lasted.”

“You’re avoiding this on purpose, aren’t you?”

 _“Demons,_ Carver! _Demons_ and _abominations_ and _axe-crazy templars!”_

“It’s nothing you haven’t dealt with every day for the past six years.”

“Not while the city’s a burning wreck!”

“Then what happened with the Qunari?”

“That’s _different!”_

“Is it?”

“Look, I’ll fill you in on the rest when there’s a little more time to breathe,” he said with an exasperated sigh as he planted a foot on a corpse skewered on the bladed end of his staff and kicked it off. “Just help me get to the Gallows.”


	3. Chapter 3

The mages were huddled together, pale and terrified, exchanging frightened whispers as Carver sat in a corner, carefully running a whetstone over his blade. One mage, a girl no older than eleven, was crying into the chest of one of the Enchanters, who held her gently, whispering reassurances about how they were going to get out, they were going to be okay, because they had the Champion of Kirkwall with them. When the girl remained unconvinced, Merrill skipped over to them, offering her own words of comfort and support.

Carver kept his eyes down and remained silent. He couldn’t bear to listen to it. All it did was open the floodgates for a rush of painful memories he’d rather not think about.

Bethany had cried in much the same way when she first manifested magic. Frost had covered their bedroom in the middle of the night, spreading throughout the house and freezing their door shut. When their father had managed to prise it open, he took Bethany up in his arms while she burst into tears. They’d spent the rest of that night packing up their belongings, leaving that particular village behind before the sun rose.

Life seemed even less stable after that.

He supposed the same sort of thing had happened when Garrett began using magic, but he didn’t remember that day very clearly, if at all. For as long as he could remember, his older brother had been a mage. Maybe that was why they’d butted heads so much; they’d never found any real common ground between them. With Bethany, at least, there were seven years at the beginning before she turned out to be a mage. For their first seven years, they were same. They were also twins, which might’ve helped.

In any case, it didn’t matter anymore. Bethany was seven years dead. In those years since they’d lost their mother, too. The harsh reality of the situation was that Garrett was his remaining family, all he had left.

Slowly, Carver’s eyes flicked up to his surviving sibling, who was standing across the room talking to the object of his affections, who was – unsurprisingly – silently seething in a corner.

The fact that he was even here at all, let alone the fact that he was here without spewing endless vitriol at every mage he saw, went to show just how much Fenris had grown to care for Garrett.

And it was bloody _nauseating_ to watch them fawn all over each other like lovers half their age. He guessed. In all honesty, no one really knew _how_ old Fenris was. Fenris himself had no idea, and it wasn’t like he’d visibly aged all that much in the time Carver had known him.

Neither had Merrill, now that he thought about it. Maybe it was an elf thing.

When he glanced back, Garrett had left Fenris’ side and was now striding across the room – right in Carver’s direction.

“Garrett,” Carver called quietly as his brother approached.

Garrett stopped at the call of his name, before nodding slightly in his direction. “Carver.”

There was a thoroughly awkward silence as the two of them shifted, trying to think of what to say to each other. For so long, Carver just stared, chewing his lip, racking his brain for something, _anything_ he could say that wouldn’t immediately end in an argument. He just wanted to have a normal, civil conversation with his older brother, since it was becoming painfully obvious that they might not get another chance to do so. It was quickly becoming apparent to the younger Hawke that he had _no idea_ how to do that. They’d been at each other’s throats for so long neither of them knew how to be anything else.

It shouldn’t be this hard.

“I-” Carver began, before cutting himself off, thinking better of it. “You…”

Garrett’s eyebrows rose slightly at his fumbling. “Carver’s genuinely lost for words. The world _must_ be ending.”

 _“Funny,”_ Carver drawled in response.

Garrett shrugged nonchalantly. “Just trying to lighten a shitty situation.”

“A shitty situation _you started.”_

He expected Garrett to bristle, to snap back at him about how it wasn’t his fault and he doesn’t have control over every little thing that goes on in the world. Instead, he just looked away, deflated.

“Yeah,” he murmured, staring aimlessly off at the doors that were the only way in or out of where they’d barricaded themselves. “I’m sorry.”

Carver blinked in surprise and shock upon hearing his brother’s words. “What?”

Garrett let out a long, tired sigh and raked his hand through his hair, clearly stressed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry this happened. I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into it. I’m sorry it took the death of everyone else in our family and a massacre for us to be in the same room without arguing. You’re not even supposed to _be_ here.”

Carver’s eyes went wide at this small rant. This wasn’t just a spontaneous outpouring of love. He knew better than that. Garrett was never particularly affectionate with anyone – save maybe the elf he’d spent six solid years mooning over – unless the circumstances were particularly dire. He wasn’t even like this when they were fleeing the Blight all those years ago.

“How is it you always manage to find a way to make my life difficult?” he asked exasperatedly, before growing pensive. “I should be hunting Archdemons, but…it feels right; you know? Being at your side again.”

He expected Garrett to laugh it off, to make some sarcastic quip like usual. Instead, his brother’s expression softened and he glanced away, growing distant and maybe even a little sad.

“Just…don’t go catching the Blight again,” he murmured, before the faintest hint of a smile began tugging on his lips. “Or whatever it is we mages carry.”

Carver chuckled a little breathlessly at that – Garrett had no idea what being a Warden really was. He supposed he couldn’t expect him to. They both knew that the only thing going on in Garrett’s mind that day in the Deep Roads was finding a way for Carver to survive. And now, here they were. About to fight and die together for a lost cause while the world fell to pieces around them.

Needless to say, this was not the way Carver imagined he would go out.

“I’m pretty much the walking dead already, thanks,” he sighed. “You kind of accept that as a Warden. So really, nothing to fear today except looking like an ass.”

Garrett barely managed a smile. He opened his mouth to say something, but ultimately decided against it. They stood in somewhat awkward silence for what felt like far too long before Carver finally rolled his shoulders back and sighed.

“I wish- …I wish Mother could’ve seen us like this. I don’t know what she would think about the rest, but…”

For a moment, Garrett just watched him, his face a little twisted up and his eyes glistening just slightly. Then he grunted and shook his head slightly, wiping his eyes and looking annoyed.

“Don’t make me tear up in front of the others, you jackass,” he growled.

Carver laughed. He couldn’t help it.

“Rubbed your collar with onions,” he admitted with a small chuckle. “Aveline’s idea.”

The look of shock and near outrage that coloured his brother’s face made him burst out with uncontrollable laughter. Garrett’s eyebrows shot up in response.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh so much,” he observed. “Weird, considering the overwhelmingly depressing situation.”

“S-sorry…it’s just, your face…”

“Carver. We’re literally about to die in hopeless battle, and you and Aveline are _pulling pranks,”_ Garrett deadpanned, only to pull back in confusion. “You. And Aveline. This can’t be real.”

Carver straightened, forcing himself to regain some form of composure. The future was too uncertain for him to risk not doing everything in his power to keep their relationship on a positive note. What he didn’t say now would likely never be said.

“I- …I’m proud to call you my brother,” he mumbled, heat rising to his cheeks. “That’s gone unsaid too long.”

“Carver…”

He shook his head. “In war, victory, Champion. And whatever else may come.”


End file.
